Page 16 of Protected By the Mountain Man

I pulled over with a frown and she looked up at me. It was the first time I’d actually seen her face to face since she’d asked me if her dad was dead at the hospital. She didn’t look much better than she had then.

“Hey,” I said. “Are you okay?”

She frowned like she was tired of people asking her that, but then she cocked her head to the side. “You’re that guy,” she said. “Aunt Kat’s friend.”

I almost laughed out loud. Me and Kat were not friends—quite the opposite, in fact. But I didn’t want to scare Olivia, so I nodded. “Yeah,” I said. “I was actually headed out to the ranch if you want a ride.”

She had her hands clasped around something, and she glanced down at it then. I realized it was her cell phone—dead, from the looks of it. She looked around and then she stood up, sighing. “Okay,” she said, “but if you turn out to be a creep, my aunt knows how to use a gun.”

Yeah…I was well aware of that.

“I’m not a creep, just a loser,” I said with a grin, then stuck my hand out to her. “Pinky swear.”

Her mouth tilted upward and I was shocked when I actually got a small laugh out of her. She was so stoic I hadn’t figured that was possible. “Okay,” she said. “What’s your name?”

“Gabe,” I said. “And you must be Olivia.”

“Yeah, but everyone calls me Livy, so you should too,” she said as she rounded the front of my truck. In a matter of seconds, she was in the passenger seat, her backpack on her lap. She looked at the radio, heard the boilerplate country streaming out of it, then she let out yet another small laugh.

“Yeah,” she said. “You are a loser.”

I put the car in drive as I laughed with her, even though I knew Kat was going to bite my head off for this.

If this wasn't playing with fire, I didn't know what was.

SEVEN

Kat

I was beat, my boots kicking up dust as I led the last of the stubborn mares into the barn. My list of errands was a joke now; I wouldn’t be leaving the ranch today. Shadow, being the most pain-in-the-ass horse since Ben passed, fought me every step.

But there he was, finally cornered in his stall, eyeballing me like I was some kind of traitor.

“Alright, you big lug,” I grumbled, offering him a carrot that he sniffed before taking. “I know. I miss him too.”

A soft snort, hot breath on my palm, and for a second, I swore we shared the same heartache.

Dirt clung to my skin, and I longed for the scalding touch of the shower to wash away the day's grime. I needed to be quick before Livy got back from school, but as I headed for the house, I saw it—the bus, barreling down the road, not stopping where it should.

Shit.

“Damn it,” I muttered and yanked out my phone, thumbing for any sign Livy had tried to reach me. Nothing. I hit her number, and when it went straight to voicemail, I damn near threw the phone across the yard.

“Pick up, Livy,” I growled at the silent device, tucking it back into my pocket with more force than necessary.

Something wasn't right.

I was about to hop in the damn truck, ready to tear through town until I found her, when something caught my eye—a speck of movement in the distance, growing larger. My heart hammered a frantic rhythm as the car turned down our driveway. I squinted against the light, trying to figure out who it was.

A broken-down old pickup with a Semper Fi bumper sticker.

Could this day get any worse?

“Damn you, Gabe,” I muttered under my breath. It could only be his truck, that unmistakable rust bucket he drove like it was some kind of trophy.

My hands were fists at my sides, nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave marks. Every muscle in my body screamed for action. This was not happening. Not on my watch.

I stormed into the house, the wooden floorboards protesting under my heavy boots. There, leaning against the wall by the door, was the shotgun—just where I'd left it after telling myself I'd use it if he ever stepped foot on my property again. And damn, I meant every word.

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